


Sometimes I Know (Sometimes I Rise)

by thelittlestwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, a short little sterek drabble actually, about nice things, because i just want them to have nice things, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:09:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestwolf/pseuds/thelittlestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Stiles and Derek talked, but sometimes they didn't. <br/>Sometimes Stiles and Derek touched, but sometimes they didn't. <br/>Sometimes, though. Just sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes I Know (Sometimes I Rise)

Sometimes they talked. 

Sometimes they would walk through the woods or patrol in the blue Jeep, keeping an eye out for whatever big bad creature had its sight set on Beacon Hills. They talked about their favorite movies and television shows, because it turns out Derek wasn’t a caveman and he did in fact own a television. Derek would always tell Stiles that he watched too much television until Stiles eventually admitted that since werewolves came into his life he hadn’t had time to watch a single episode of anything. 

Sometimes when it got late they would go back to the Stilinski house, careful not to wake the Sheriff if he was sleeping, and sneak up to Stiles’ room. Stiles would lay on his bed, Derek would settle on the floor beside him, and they would turn off the lights. They would still talk there, but their voices were lowered to hushed whispers and under the comforting blanket of darkness they would talk about other things.

“She was beautiful.” Stiles said about his mother once, after a long moment of silence. 

“I know.” Derek agreed, remembering seeing Mrs. Stilinski around town when he was younger. She was incredibly beautiful. 

Under the safe cover of night they could talk about serious things as if they were speaking of the weather. Stiles talked first and Derek always envied him for being fearless and open. Truthfully, Stiles was terrified but he couldn’t keep everything bottled up any longer. 

Stiles was bursting at the seams and Derek always listened. Stiles only hoped that one day Derek would feel comfortable enough to share something too, not only because he wanted to know, but because Stiles saw a million things in Derek clawing at his insides, just waiting to be freed. 

...

Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. 

Sometimes they just wandered around town, saying nothing and going nowhere at all. Sometimes Derek would pick Stiles up in the Camaro and they would drive around with the windows down; sometimes they listened to the radio, but sometimes they didn’t. Stiles always stuck his hand out the window.

 

Sometimes Stiles would come home and find Derek sitting in the chair in the corner of his room, wrapped up around a good book. That’s how Stiles found out Derek wore glasses. Stiles would collapse onto his bed, pull out his homework and a pair of glasses of his own that he never let anyone see, and silently work. 

The only noises would be the rustling of papers or the turning of pages, occasionally the crack of broken pencil lead when Stiles would press too hard on his paper. Derek would watch Stiles because when he read a book he enjoyed or wrote a paper he found interesting, every ounce of hyperactivity melted away. Stiles became this incredibly focused, hardworking creature that Derek had never seen before. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone knew this side of Stiles existed at all. 

He also couldn’t help but hope that no one else did, because this Stiles was so stripped down, so intimate that Derek didn’t want to share him with anyone else. 

When the room got so silent that Stiles had to look up to see if Derek was even there, he met the gaze of two intense hazel eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, neither one even opening their mouth to speak. 

The silence didn’t need to be filled. In a moment like this, words could be dangerous. 

For once, Stiles looked away first, but Derek still saw the blush creep up in his cheeks as he frantically turned the pages of his chemistry book, looking for nothing important at all. 

...

Sometimes they touched.

When Stiles talked, sometimes he flailed expressively, especially if he was angry or excited or so exhausted that he couldn’t be bothered with the effort of coordination. Every so often Derek would have to catch an incoming elbow or arm to keep from being hit in the face. 

Before they became friends, or whatever they were, Derek would have to shove Stiles against a wall just to get him to shut up. His hands would curl in Stiles’ jacket and their faces were so close that Derek couldn’t help but notice Stiles’ glance darting across his face, searching for something. Searching for anything.

One time Stiles even shoved Derek right back. That didn’t end well. 

They found themselves saving each other. Over and over again. Derek never admitted how oddly secure he felt in Stiles’ arms in the pool because even though Stiles was human and Derek was paralyzed in eight feet of water, something in Derek knew that Stiles wouldn’t let him drown. Couldn’t let him drown. 

But this was something different. When Stiles would show Derek something he was researching, Derek would lean over the desk, so casual and comfortable like he had done it a million times before. Sometimes his hand would rest on Stiles’ shoulder and after the first few times, Stiles didn’t even flinch. Neither of them said anything when he leaned into Derek’s touch. 

After a nasty fight with the Alpha pack, Derek found himself touching Stiles more than he was ready for. He held Stiles in his arms, his hands pressed into bleeding wounds on Stiles’ side and chest. Stiles chattered as he slipped in and out of consciousness, saying things that Derek couldn’t hear over the sound of the blood pulsing in Stiles’ veins. He didn’t hear the sirens of the ambulance or Scott’s pleas for Derek to let go. 

Derek knew Stiles would be alright. He didn’t think twice when he leaned close and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ head. Scott took his friend and went to the ambulance.

Derek’s arms felt strangely empty. 

...

Sometimes they didn’t touch at all. 

Derek sat beside Stiles’ hospital bed for three days, not moving, not saying a word. He just sat, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if it took every ounce of his self-restraint not to reach out and touch the sleeping Stiles. 

 

When the Sheriff saw him the first time, he had every mind to march in there, drag the suspected felon out of his son’s room, and demand to know what happened. The doctors had told him that Stiles would be fine; it was just a few stitches and luckily no internal damage was done. But that was his little boy in there, injured without a very good explanation and the Sheriff would be damned if he was just going to sit back and do nothing. 

He stepped into the room and Derek immediately looked up from where he had been staring intently at the floor. He straightened up and stood to meet the Sheriff, who suddenly felt no animosity towards Derek. The look he saw in Derek’s eyes told him more in one minute than Scott had explained to him in two hours. Derek wasn’t responsible. Derek had saved Stiles. 

Just not soon enough. 

The Sheriff saw such a painful amount of guilt in his eyes that he had to look away. He wanted to say something, anything to Derek, but he didn’t think that would do any good. He just nodded silently and walked over to his son. He told the sleeping Stiles that he would be back later and to call when he woke up, even though that part was more for Derek who couldn’t help but listen. The Sheriff kissed Stiles’ forehead and left. 

Derek sat again and reached up to the bed. He couldn’t bring himself to touch Stiles. He didn’t deserve to touch Stiles. Stiles was breakable and fragile and Derek should have been there. Stiles probably wouldn’t let Derek touch him ever again. Derek should have been there. 

He laid his hand down on the bed next to Stiles’, so painfully close that he could feel the heat rolling off his body. But he didn’t touch Stiles. He couldn’t touch Stiles. 

Scott and Isaac sat outside in the waiting room and said nothing when they heard someone start to cry. 

...

Sometimes they missed each other. 

The Sheriff finally decided that after a week of laying in bed Stiles could finally get out and see the world. As much of the world that you could see from Beacon Hills, anyways. Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad for the break, even if it did mean permanent scars carved into his skin. He winced when he pulled on his shirt and another shirt over that, and a jacket on top. Nobody needed to see them. 

Stiles didn’t know where he was going when he got into his blue Jeep but he didn’t think twice when he pulled up in front of the old Hale house and stepped outside. 

 

He didn’t even have to say anything. Derek already knew he was there. Derek heard the familiar sound of the Jeep crunching over leaves and stepped out onto the porch. He hadn’t seen Stiles since he had woken up in the hospital. Derek didn’t say anything to him at all. He couldn’t even look into those big, brown eyes. 

“Hey.” Stiles said. 

“Hi.”

Stiles walked up and sat on the front steps of the porch because he knew Derek didn’t want to talk. Derek wasn’t as silent as everyone seemed to think he was and Stiles didn’t talk uncontrollably. He didn’t know what to say. He just knew that he wanted to be on the front steps of the Hale house. Derek sat down beside him. 

“I’m… Stiles…. I’m….” Derek started after they had sat in silence for so long the sun started to set over their heads. Stiles turned to face Derek, so quickly that he felt his skin pull sickeningly on his side but it didn’t seem to matter. 

“You’re what?”

“Sorry.” Derek whispered, looking into Stiles’ eyes for the first time since the accident. 

Stiles didn’t talk. He didn’t touch Derek reassuringly on the arm. He leaned over and kissed Derek. 

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and kissed him hard. It felt so good to have him back, alive, in front of him. Derek missed Stiles. He missed him so much. 

“I missed you, too, Derek.” Stiles whispered. 

Stiles missed Derek. He missed him so much. 

But he had a feeling he didn’t have to miss him anymore. 

...

Sometimes they didn’t miss each other at all. 

“Stiles?” 

“Yeah, Der?” Stiles yawned as he rolled over, nearly elbowing Derek in the chest. Luckily, Derek had seen it coming, gently grabbed Stiles’ arm and set it down. “Sorry.” Stiles sighed, adjusting himself so his head rested on Derek’s chest. It was much nicer that way.

 

“Are we ever getting out of this bed?” Derek asked as he started to trace lazy lines up and down Stiles’ spine, stifling a smile every time Stiles shivered beneath his touch. 

“Bed soft. I like bed. Bed soft… boyfriend soft…” Stiles mumbled as his hand trailed up to rest on Derek’s neck. 

“Okay.” Derek said, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nope!” Stiles said, sitting up suddenly. He put an arm on either side of Derek’s, bracketing his shoulders so he couldn’t move. “Now I’m awake. Now we have to do something.” He said, raising one eyebrow in a way that Derek knew meant Stiles was up to absolutely no good in that strange, twisted mind of his. 

“Want to get out of bed?” Derek asked, running a hand across the muscles on Stiles’ arm.

“Not even a little bit, Sour Wolf.” Stiles whispered as he leaned down and kissed Derek. It was a clash of teeth and tongues and soon Stiles couldn’t hold himself up any longer because he couldn’t think about a damned thing other than Derek’s mouth on his. 

They didn’t leave the bed for a whole day after that. 

...

end


End file.
